


Sex, Love, and Other Languages

by miscfics (twowritehands)



Category: Howards End - E. M. Forster, The Legend of Tarzan (2016), The Legend of Tarzan (2016)/Howards End (BBC drama) crossover
Genre: First Love, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Forbidden Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/miscfics
Summary: Human courtship has so many more steps than that of the jungle. In the jungle there is no courtship. Animals chase each other and once caught….Tarzan adjusts to life in London without Jane.Tippy learns to be less cerebral.
Relationships: Tippy Schlegel/John "Tarzan" Clayton
Kudos: 2





	Sex, Love, and Other Languages

**Author's Note:**

> Smudging timelines here. The canon of each are actually thirty years apart but in the interest of keeping the age gap to a minimum, Tarzan is 28 in this fic (18 when he came to England). Tippy is 19.

The orchestra reached its frenzy, a swell of music filling the chamber. John inhaled through the rush it injected into his blood and exhaled at a measured pace in order to keep his eyes from pricking with tears. Music was the very best part of Society. Well, the second best part anyway. But since the death of his wife, music was all he had anymore. This song reminded him of Jane. His careful breathing barely kept the tears in check. Good lord, he might have to excuse himself.

In an attempt to regain control of his faculties, John looked away from the musicians on the stage and cast his eyes over the audience around him. Public place. Not the time to break down weeping. Beside him, a young lady noticed his attention on her and looked his way, smiling happily. She obviously found him handsome and could tell by his clothes that he was wealthy. He smiled tightly back at her, but felt nothing but a faint sense of obligation.

Jane had made it clear on her sickbed that she didn’t want him to mourn her forever. She’d outright told him not to be alone for the rest of his life, as he had been for the first part of it. He had no intention of living alone, but after a year and a half of seeing to his desires through a couple of convenient arrangements among his friends, he was almost convinced that Jane was the only person in the world he actually wanted to tie himself to forever.

Movement several rows behind the lady drew John's eye. A young man wearing a striped scarf had his head bowed, eyes riveted to sheet music in his lap. His thin wrists kept time in the same form as the maestro on the stage.

John's polite smile loosened into one of pleasure. Was he witnessing the enthusiastic practice of a future famous composer? The boy was making no efforts to copy the conductor on stage. He gave cues using his own style, and never once glanced up from the music. 

John did not recognize the youth, but found him oddly alluring. His small frame seemed as fragile as glass. His hair was shaggy but almost promised to be silky soft. His clothes were nice but not overly so and there was something about his style. As if he had chosen a wardrobe based on an arbitrary set of rules laid down by his sex, and this morning picked something at random. His clothes weren't in themselves pitiful or mismatched but they were ever so slightly out of style. He had no waist coat, his jacket was not fitted nor buttoned. His shirt was rumpled under his suspenders.

John reluctantly tore his eyes from the stranger and refocused on the orchestra.

When the concert ended, John made a concentrated effort to bump into the young man in the rather colorful scarf. But that quickly became impossible. The boy tucked the music sheets beneath an arm, dropped a bowler hat on his head and walked with purpose for an exit, ignoring everyone else with a certain tenacity.

John was forced to participate in one cordial exchange after the other, and though he kept each encounter as brief as politely possible, he did not free himself in time to catch the boy before he left the building. 

"I beg your pardon, but I hope to catch a friend before he leaves. Excuse me--"

John hastened outside just in time to catch a glimpse of the striped scarf as the boy climbed into a carriage. The wish to pursue gripped John with such fervor that he quite forgot himself, broke into a run, and lept deftly into the carriage before the door was shut. 

"HEY--EXCUSE YOU--SIR!" the driver sputtered, flummoxed by such a large man hurtling past him. "This carriage is taken!!"

John's rationality returned and he found himself crouched, ape like, in the small space of the carriage. He hastened to take a seat like a gentleman. 

What had come over him?

"Sir," the driver said, indicating John's quarry, "the carriage is hired already--sir!"

The boy had pressed himself to the furthest corner, wide eyed and as near an animal as John had been, but as cornered prey.

John gulped, "indeed it is," he muttered, quite embarrassed. He hadn't misstepped this egregiously in many years. "Forgive me. I was in a hurry, and--" he began to ramble about appointments that didn't exist; lying as hard as he knew how, for the alternative was to confess a shocking primal thing that would surely land him in prison--

"You're dressed very fine," the boy cut in with a soft pensive voice. "But you're not really."

John was taken aback by such piercing words adjoined by penetrating blue eyes. He felt at once stripped back down to the loincloth and jungle mud. Though, to be fair, it was certainly due to his actions and not a great wisdom on the boy's behalf that the truth had been perceived.

The boy didn't look away or even blink. John didn't like to be stared at like a circus attraction. He took measured breaths, squeezing his cane until his malformed knuckles turned white.

"I have behaved terribly, sir. It wasn't my intention to frighten or offend you. I thought the carriage was empty."

"You frightened me considerably but I'm not offended," he said, beginning to smile. He waved a limp wrist at the perplexed driver. "We will share the ride. Thank you."

Relief flooded John's veins. His lies had been believed. 

"To Main Street for me, please." he said. 

The driver collected himself at last, nodded, and closed the carriage door. Within moments they were rocking along the street. 

The boy said nothing, waiting. John found himself speechless. Exactly what was he supposed to say?  _ Pardon me, but something about you sparks aggressive desire within me. You are mine. _

For obvious reasons, he could say no such thing. He even feared a bad reaction to the watered down truth: _ I saw you in the audience and I followed you. _

He had behaved like a madman. Worse, a beast. Human courtship had so many more steps than that of the jungle. In the jungle there was no courtship. Animals chased each other and once caught…. 

Was it hot in here?

The boy began to look uncomfortable, broke eye contact first, and visibly sought refuge within the sheets of music. 

John thumped his cane as a scrap of etiquette occurred to him. 

"My manners again--goodness. Please let me introduce myself. I'm John Clayton, the third."

Thin shoulders that had grown tense relaxed. "Theobald. Theobald Shlegel."

They shook hands--John's palm was wider, his fingers longer and thicker. He felt absurdly as if he should have kissed the delicate knuckles instead. His release was perhaps delayed for the thought.

"We've come from the same concert, it seems."

"Yes!" Theobald launched straight into highlights of the program with stunning insight into the musical composition. John was able to follow, but his opinion began and ended with "it was an extremely moving piece" for as much as he enjoyed music, he had made no study of it outside a concert hall, which he admitted freely.

"I barely read and write English. Music utterly escapes me."

Theobald's lashes veiled his eyes and his lips tilted. He sat back, spine straight, chin elevated. "I like you, Clayton. Your evident wealth hasn't drained you of personality."

John shrugged, humble. "If the uninhibited ape within us all constitutes personality."

"Ape?" recognition flickered in Theobald's eye. "Good  _ heavens _ . John Clayton III--I didn't piece it together. You're that Lord that was raised by apes in the Congo!"

"Yes," John felt the three foot drop into the most tedious of conversations. "Everything is in the book. I couldn't possibly divulge a fresh detail--

"I haven't read the book. Not myself. My sisters were quite obsessed at one time. Should I read it?"

John grit his teeth. "Only if it interests you to know how I managed in my formative years."

Blue eyes raked over him. "Quite. To look at you now, your background could not be guessed."

"Not even after my devolved ingress into this carriage?"

Theobald laughed and the sound bore no judgement, only pleasure. It sent tingles rolling down John's spine and he joined in gayly. It felt as if he had Jane back, alone in their secret world removed from society where mistakes could be laughed at and forgotten.

John's entire body flashed hot. His gut twisted. He missed Jane but allowed no outward sign to register his pain.

"I like you," Theobald proclaimed again. He sounded rather mystified, as if he had never felt such an emotion before.

John's stomach untwisted with a flutter. It could not be that simple--not again. His connection to Jane had been forged within the unforgiving wilderness, born of instinct and curiosity. How was it that it was happening again, on the clean civil streets of London?

One nervous glance followed by a glimpse of Theobald's pink tongue wetting soft lips answered that question. Arousal dropped on John like a jungle cat.

"I like you, too, Mr. Shlegel."

"You must call me Tippy," he rasped, bored of such proper conduct. "My friends do."

John grunted. "Tippy," he thumped his chest. "John."

*

This was most singular. Tippy generally hated company. He took great pains to avoid it most of the time. In fact, if not for his sisters' two pronged efforts, no visitors would ever stop at the house on Ducy Street and Tippy would only leave it for the best concerts. Every three days he was forced to endure social calls from people sent by his well meaning sisters, who believed he needed friends. So far the attempts had been unsuccessful, borderline torture. 

Yet here he was, sharing a cab with a complete stranger  _ and enjoying it _ .

Lord Greystoke-- _ John _ \--had the most intense stare in the world. As the carriage took a right turn, the afternoon sun struck the man fully in the face. His blond hair--so neatly tied at the nape of his neck--turned into spun gold, but those cinereous eyes remained dark and fixed upon Tippy, hungry and without shame.

A brand new urge awoke within Tippy. He actually wanted company.

"Have tea with me," he demanded at once.

"Gladly," came the prompt response.

"What about your appointments?"

John took a breath, and Tippy heard his sister scold him for saying the thing that everyone knew but shouldn't mention. But then John's face split into a charming smile. 

"Inconsequential," he replied with ease.

Tippy smiled.

*

The boy was aloof. Cerebral. He was a complex mind born into a body of flesh for which it cared little. After just a half hour of conversation in his new friend's parlor, John came to a decision.

“I’d like to make an arrangement with you," he said in a lull. "Mutually beneficial and entirely discreet.”

Tippy frowned, “What sort of arrangement requires discretion? Would we be circulating scandalously treasonous pamphlets or something like that?”

“Pamphlets?” John laughed, a breathy grunt or two. “Is  _ pamphlet circulation _ the height of your wicked imagination?”

His bright face shuttered. “Dear John, I sense teasing from you and I’ll warn you it is causing me to lose all interest in you. I don’t like bullies.”

“I meant nothing by it but to convey fondness.”

He still seemed hurt. “Hmph.”

John began to speak but paused and then sighed. “If I may speak bluntly?”

“Please do, I love a shock now and again.”

“Sex. You and me. Today, if at all possible.”

Tippy fumbled the sugar cubes and turned pink, then red.

“Is sex with a man offensive to you?”

“It is nothing to me.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Well… I know  _ of  _ it. There were one or two boys at school. Everyone talked  _ around  _ it. But not  _ about  _ it. It all seemed,” a bored sigh with a well executed eye roll, “More  _ dramatic  _ than it had any right to be. Talking about another man’s bedroom business is just about the most gauche a person can be, don’t you agree?”

“Forgive me for bringing it up.”

“What is to be forgiven? You asked me to be a homosexual with you. It is a straightforward business conversation. Nothing at all like gossip.”

John checked a smile. “I must say this is the first time I’ve ever had to begin with a, as you call it, straightforward business conversation. Usually the business just sort of begins without a verbal contract.”

“Does it?” Tippy frowned deeply in interest. “Marvelous, how does that work?”

“Instinct, mostly. The invitation and the acceptance are exchanged in the eyes,” their eyes locked and held. John reached and brushed his curled fingers over Tippy’s. “Sometimes a touch,” when Tippy exhaled a shuddering breath, John whispered, “or a breath.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.”

Tippy retracted his hand and sat up straighter. He poured tea with a return to his earlier aloofness. Though this time it was more of a practiced air. “And these men you’ve had business with before, why not call on them?” he cut his eyes to John and then they went back to overly focusing on his tea. “Why follow  _ me  _ into my carriage?”

“My friends are convenient--and not all of them are  _ male _ , to be clear--but sometimes the appetite wants...  _ more _ .”

“More,” Tippy echoed in a raspy whisper.

“I’m drawn to you. The way you move, the way you hold yourself. Your eyes. There are molly houses where I might find a willing partner of your gender and mannerisms, but peers of the realm don’t condescend to go to molly houses.”

“Molly houses. You mean prostitutes?”

John nodded.

“Do you intend to pay me if I fuck you?”

The soft  _ woof _ popped out of his mouth as John sat back in his chair, unexpectedly winded by the masculine language slipping so easily from those soft lips.

Tippy seemed pleased. “I’ve shocked you.”

John licked his smiling lips and inclined his head graciously. “You managed a small shock, yes. And no. I wouldn’t pay you. Friends don’t pay.”

“And  _ we  _ are friends.”

“Yes, I hope we can be. Even if you say no to my business offer. I do like talking about music with you.”

“Music is divine but there are so many other wonderful things to talk about. How many languages do you speak?”

John was momentarily thrown, but he recovered. He shrugged his shoulder, “Let’s call it four.” At Tippy’s inquisitive look, he sighed and explained. “I have English, obviously. Swahili. Some French. And, of course, my first language; that of the jungle.”

“I love languages. I speak six with fluency, but I believe I can get by in twelve more. Most recently I’m learning Mandarin.”

“Language is like a puzzle.”

“It is. A lovely puzzle. Too bad it requires one to have company to properly enjoy mastering it.”

John let a lull fall. He did not want to let Tippy skirt the topic of his proposition. So after a beat in which Tippy bit his lip and seemed to begin to fret, John said softly. “A yes or a no will suffice. And we can continue to talk about language for now if you like, no matter your answer.”

“I wasn’t avoiding your question,” Tippy rolled his eyes. “I was simply going to ask you if sex is a language. The way you spoke of it earlier. The eyes and the touch and the breath. It seems like a kind of language that doesn’t need words.”

“That is one way to describe it.”

“No one has ever put it that way to me before. I’m interested in learning now.”

Fondness washed over John. He admired the brave and eager boy for a moment, then as the beat stretched out, the energy in the room changed. Tippy’s eagerness and bravado wavered.

Instinct met a weak spot in will power and John's patience snapped like a dried twig. He left his chair, sidestepped the tea table and when Tippy rose from his chair, John took hold of him by the jaw and kissed him. Tippy did a little flailing about, a few soft grunts of surprise and then he submitted. That surrender burned hot and bright behind John's breastplate, in that place where his heart thrashed and his soul hurt.

Tippy tasted like tea and when his tongue finally ventured into John's mouth, he sucked on it hungrily and when it retreated John went after it greedily, penetrating Tippy's mouth again and again.

They broke apart. John stayed close. Tippy made no concentrated effort to get away. He stared at John in complete fascination. John grinned. "Have I overstepped?"

"I should think not," Tippy returned breathlessly. "I've never done that before. Did I do it right?"

"You did well," John murmured. Tippy was in his arms, completely against him. Body to body, he could feel the boy breathing. Tip was solid, much more so than one would expect from an observation across the room. He was a healthy young man of flesh, warm with life, as opposed to some tragic waif that blew in on the breeze.

John held him tighter, "Shall I go or shall I continue?"

"Continue," Tippy whispered. 

John pulled Tippy to the sofa and sat down. The boy dithered slightly before sitting across his knee. He smiled shyly, but leaned into John eagerly. 

He could not look away from the appetite within those metallic blue eyes as he slowly dragged Tippy's suspenders off each shoulder. The boy trembled, breath stuttering slightly before a gulp. 

John caressed his face. "See now, I've learned a secret from your eyes," he whispered, brushing their lips together. Tippy made a weak sound that stood for a question mark. John licked his neck, and Tippy shuddered.

"You have been craving this," he said against his collarbone.

Tippy went breathless, and whispered in his ear, "And I know one of your secrets--from your touch… You don't want to hurt me."

John closed his eyes, breathing in the intoxicating scent beneath Tip's collar. "I can forget my strength sometimes."

"How strong are you?"

John braced him with one arm and stood up. 

Tippy yelped, clutching John in surprise. His face was lit with amazement and joy. "You magnificent brute. Kiss me and don't put me down."

John grunted and complied.

The force of the kissing caused John to sway. Tippy squirmed and wrapped his legs around John's waist for a better, full bodied kiss.

It couldn't happen right here, in the sitting room. Could it? John pivoted on the spot to better see without disrupting the kisses. The curtains were drawn, the door closed. It was only a matter of the household staff's routine. Did they keep out of an occupied room until called for or did they move about freely to tend fires and complete chores?

John won back his tongue and grunted, "here?"

"We won't be interrupted."

The last obstacle cleared, John unleashed himself on his exquisite friend.

For Tippy, it was rather like a concupiscent dream. Vivid, amorous detail he blushed to consider in waking hours; John was over six feet tall, with shoulders as broad as a door, arms breathtakingly strong, and a hot hard cock straining in his tailored pants. Here in the flesh, wanting to sate his lust with Tippy.

Since Tippy's ardent wish was to be exempt from tedious social interaction, an encounter such as this was everything he believed out of reach--for he had failed to consider molly houses in time. 

All the better, he decided as his open trousers sagged and John cupped his bare ass. He shouldn't like it half as well if it was happening in a strange location, and costing money to boot.

Tippy's first ejaculation in the presence of someone happened rather swiftly, with a thick finger breaching his hole and a massive hand tugging on his rock hard cock. He was overcome and unable to do anything about it and he broke. He would have been embarrassed if John hadn't seemed to like it so much.

"Well done," John rasped. His finger was still inside, moving in and out but thankfully no longer brushing that place inside, the place that had made him spill. Tippy was certain that if John touched that place now it would set him on fire.

"That felt glorious," Tippy breathed. "Absolutely. Glorious."

"Oh, we have barely begun," John promised in a deep and positively wicked timbre. "Next time, it won't be my finger I'm thrusting into you."

The promise and the imagery made him tremble. Then John removed his finger and Tippy felt his absence, as well as a longing for his return. He reached and cupped the rock hard ridge that was still trapped in a pair of fine trousers.

"You mean you'll shove your cock in my ass?" his bold statement did exactly as intended. John made that gruff woof of surprise again. Tippy preened with pride. "Should it be so easy to shock a man who ran naked with gorillas?"

John was smiling. He bucked his pelvis forward, pressing his cock into Tippy's hand. "You had me under the impression that the language of sex was new to you."

"New in practice, not in study. And by the way, it's not a conversation if you don't reply," he shoved his hand down the front of an Earl's trousers. Just like that.

The flesh he gripped was unbelievably large. He'd never handled something so big. It made his body ache with want. His mouth even watered which he didn't fully understand. 

He did his very best to stroke John the way he liked to be stroked, the way John had stroked him. But it was difficult to maintain focus when John kept kissing him. After some time of working when there seemed to be no end on the horizon, he pulled away and ordered, "Stop distracting me, I'm trying to get you off before my arm wears out."

John chuckled and tilted his face up with curled knuckles under his chin. John's eyes were on Tippy's mouth, not his eyes. "This isn't how to get me off."

Tippy's confidence wavered and he stopped the motion of his hand on John's massive cock. John held his eye for a moment and Tippy understood desire and a question and when John's eyes fell to his mouth again, this time with a buck of his hips, Tippy understood. Just like that, with no more words, he understood. It was positively marvelous.

And it was surprisingly easy, going to his knees.

John brushed Tippy's lips with the head of his hard cock then eased in a little and back out, a little more and back out. He murmured instructions to Tippy on how to use his cheeks to cushion his teeth. Soon enough he was thrusting shallowly but rapidly into Tippy's mouth.

He breathed through his nose, inhaling the musk of John's groin, and relishing the way he could feel John's thick member pulse against his tongue. The way he could hear John's breathing go harsh, feel his cock getting stiffer and stiffer. Tippy was surprised when he realized his own cock was hard again. He stroked himself as he sucked. 

When John gripped his head and went deeper, Tippy gagged and John retreated enough to let him breathe but then he went deep again. Tippy gagged again but this time recovered without spitting him out. Then John went deep again and Tippy managed to swallow at the same time so the cock slipped right down his throat.

John groaned. Tippy's nose was pressed into pubic hair. Still deep, John thrust once, twice, three times and he broke with a roar and a series of grunts as he stroked through.

Tippy couldn't breathe and spat him out to gasp for air. John's cock, wet and softening, hung inches from his face in the open air and sunlight of the tea room. Tippy's hand flew, and he finished for the second time in an hour, this time in his trousers.

John's breathing was evening out. His fingers, thick and malformed to stay almost perpetually curled, combed through Tippy's hair with a kind of tenderness that made Tippy shiver.

"Perfectly done," John whispered. "You are a natural."

John hauled Tippy to his feet with the ease of a man picking up a crate of apples. His legs held him up, but only barely. John held him close to keep him upright. 

"I think I rather liked doing that," Tippy said, in amazement. "It doesn't make logical sense. The mouth isn't supposed to have sexual pleasure receptors and yet the feeling of you fucking my mouth was… well it was a lot of things but above all it was… it was… well, it was divine."

John's smile was dazzling. He lifted Tippy's chin and kissed him sweetly. Then combed the hair over his ear as he said, "I am glad you enjoyed it as much as I did."

The clock in the hall struck the hour and Tippy felt an acute slice of alarm. Was that the time? Whomever his sisters were sending him this week would be around in half the hour.

"You have to leave."

John woofed. Tippy gave an apologetic smile. "It is nearly time for some much dreaded social calls. My sisters arrange some every week, to keep me from being a total recluse. I'd really much rather keep you here but--"

"I understand completely. I will go. But we must do this again--"

"Oh, yes, absolutely."

"Tuesday. Four o'clock?"

Tippy nodded. John tilted his face, kissed him, and left. 

*

Tippy told no one about his new friend the fifth Earl of Greystoke, or what they did in the broad daylight of the sitting room. It seemed so surreal, like it happened to someone else. Surely handsome and wealthy lovers only happened to bolder more sociable people than Theobald Schlegel. But it had happened.

A man, flesh and blood, muscle and sinew, had followed him home and--taken him. A man with urges, with needs, had set eyes on him and wanted him to fill those needs, those base urges.

Never in his life had Tippy ever been wanted for anything other than conversation. Never had he ever been credited for anything other than his mind, his wit.

And it was rather fun, keeping secrets.

The carriage stopped in front of the Earl's townhouse. Tippy climbed out, thanked the driver, and moved himself up the steps to the door as if he visited people all the time. 

He knocked. Then stood waiting, clutching his sheet music, for what felt like an age before the door opened. He didn't know if he was supposed to smile or not at the butler.

"Tip Schlegel, here for a, a music lesson." The excuse sounded so fake out loud. Surely now the staff would expect to hear piano scales for the whole evening. Blast, why did they settle on this ruse again?

His sisters wouldn't believe he left the house for any other reason. And after the close call during John's second visit--one of his sister's agents had dropped in unexpectedly --John had put forth the invitation. They would have greater privacy in his home, where no one dropped by without an appointment. So here he was, making a social call under the ruse of being a music tutor.

"Yes, sir. He is expecting you. May I take your coat and scarf?"

"Please. Thank you."

The Butler led him to a large parlour and announced him before Tippy was able to even spot the man in the massive room.

"Tip, right on time!" John said from a far corner, where he was hidden behind a grand piano. He struck a few clunky notes.

"My hands aren't for playing, so no one bothered to instruct me further. But I've found an Earl ought to at least be able to tell a key signature and such"

"Do you read music at all?"

"No."

"Then that will be where we begin."

John joined him at the chairs by the fire as a servant delivered tea. Then, finally, they were closed up alone in the parlour. 

"Thanks for coming," John said roughly.

"I had to," he whispered. "It's been agony without you for tea."

"Dear Tip. Come here," John commanded. 

Tip went straight to the floor between John's knees, thinking of only one thing. He'd done it twice now and he yearned to hear the noises John made, the praises he delivered in rough whispers. But most of all, he wanted to feel the cock erupt on his lips.

But John hauled him by the elbows into his lap. 

"No. Something new."

Tip lifted one eyebrow. "New? I like new. Will it be as fun?"

John nodded. "It's the same. But reversed."

"...I'll fuck your throat?"

John nodded. 

"I'm not big enough to go down your throat, John."

"I don't care. I want to taste you."

John knelt, opened Tippy's fly, and began sucking him. When Tippy swelled, he started thrusting as deep as he could. He managed to touch the back of John's throat but no further. The flutter over the head of his cock felt peculiarly amazing. And the sight of John puckered around his cock, looking up was novel. But Tippy felt slightly bored--utterly consumed by the sensation, but... taskless. He could not reach anything but John's hair, which he petted lovingly, but the affection given was nothing to the service received. Tippy would rather be the one servicing, at least that took his full capacity of thought and didn't leave him with the sense that he should open a book.

John suddenly stopped, breathing heavily. Tippy looked down at him, guiltily. (His attention had wandered for a moment.)

John forced Tip's trousers all the way down, stood and put Tippy bare assed on the edge of the piano.

When John knelt again he was actually a few inches lower than Tip's cock. He forced his knees high, his legs wide. And kissed Tip's hole, tongue bashfully tickling the sphincter.

Tip gasped and fell back on his elbows. The piano hummed beneath him from the vibration. The more the playful tongue teased, the less brain function Tip had.

Eventually he wasn't thinking about anything at all except what John was doing to him. New indeed. Rather than fucking Tip's mouth, he was fucking Tip with his mouth. Brilliant. 

John stopped a second time, yanked Tip into his arms, and laid him on the floor. Then John opened his trousers, released himself, and knelt over his head. They began servicing each other simultaneously.

Tip noticed quite happily that John's technique withered considerably once Tip swallowed him whole. But the feel of a cock on his tongue coupled with the fluttering around the head of his cock was enough to finish him.

Tip squirmed into his trousers. They rested against the legs of the piano, grinning. 

"I think I'm going to like teaching music very much."

John chortled.

*

Tippy sent the servant girl out on errands minutes before John arrived at Ducy St. When Tippy answered the door, John nodded regally as he stepped through. 

"We are alone today. I've sent Anne to the market. She will be gone an hour."

The door clicked shut. John smiled, lifted him, kissed him, and began to climb the stairs with Tippy in his arms. No words and yet Tippy understood that John would get right to the business, that an hour was barely long enough but would have to do, that John had been aching for more of Tippy the same as Tippy had been aching for him. 

The language of sex was definitely his favorite.

In the bedroom, John dropped him on the bed with a grunt, then with small guttural noises practically ripped the clothes off Tippy. He felt like a ragdoll tossed and flopped around until he was naked beneath the gaze of the Earl. It made his cock stand straight up. 

He lifted his knees, spread his legs. John woofed, smiled, and climbed over him. He hadn't removed any article of clothing, but had opened his shirt and trousers. Tippy liked that his wordless demand had shocked John and made him forget to undress.

Tippy was ready for more than a finger. And while he loved to have John fuck his mouth, he was eager to learn more acts with which to communicate his deepest secrets. 

John held eye contact. Curled fingers caressed his jaw, trailed down the length of his body, dipped behind his scrotum. Tippy shook.

Sometimes he felt like he could drown in the whirlpools within. Especially when he thought about what he truly wanted. Did John ever feel that way? Was he ever frightened of the beasts within?

Tippy could read it in his eyes and hear it in his breath. Of course not. John's first language was of the jungle. He knew every beast as a friend.

Tippy wrapped his arms tightly around him. John bit his shoulder tenderly until the shaking stopped. His finger stayed inside, eventually moving again. Tippy sank into the pleasure.

When John's teeth lifted out of the little craters in his skin, Tippy hissed and throbbed. The spot burned, actually cool in the air from spit, but searing with meaning. Tippy felt owned now. No one else would ever leave a mark on him and live to see it fade. John wouldn't allow it. It was the law of the jungle. 

"I'm yours then," Tip mumbled weakly. He felt strangled with emotions too big for his body.

"Mine," John grunted, feral.

"Hurry up," he begged. The room was too dark to see the clock face. How much time did they have before Anne returned?

John put a second finger inside, and the stretch made Tippy screw his eyes shut. His breathing went funny. John kissed the bite mark. Tippy shuddered and gasped for breath. "Hurry up," he grit through his teeth again. Perhaps he should have given Anne the day off. He didn't like this to feel so rushed. 

John apparently ignored him. He kept it at two fingers, messaging and twisting. It wasn't until he laid a hand on Tippy's heaving chest that Tippy realized John was waiting for him to breathe normally again.

He glared up at John. Fine, if he was going to be like that, Tippy would show him fortitude. He was determined not to be too weak to take it.

Tippy focused on breathing and relaxing the rigid muscles in his back and stomach.

"Good," John growled encouragingly. He cradled his head, and angled himself. 

Tippy caught his breath and fisted the sheets in anticipation. The thick head of a cock breached him, sinking one inch at a time as Tippy mewled and whimpered.

Fortunately, John stayed close, cradling Tippy's head and pinning his hip firmly to the bed. Tippy's senses were filled with John. An anchor in the whirlpool. 

He remembered to breathe and relax. John buried the last inch and paused just to look into Tippy's eyes. Everything went blurry for a moment and chill bumps lifted all over his body. John kissed him sweetly.

The first thing John did was take hold of Tippy's cock and stroke it until it was as proud as ever. That felt lovely, indeed. To be so stuffed full and rubbed languidly. Tippy relaxed against the pillows.

Then John braced his hip again and began to thrust. Small movements, repeated stimulation to the hidden nerves. Tippy howled and curled his toes. 

John grunted and kept going. Tippy opened his eyes, saw John's face set with reverence. His heart skipped a beat. They kissed. 

John slowed, and Tippy felt like he could burst with the love and pleasure building inside of him. 

Then he did. He spilled all over the place. More than ever. John twitched inside him, then sat back on his knees and thrust more quickly as he spilled too.

Tippy felt the warm seed coat his insides. He trembled and stroked John's face.

John smiled bashfully and then drew a deep breath as he combed Tippy's hair back.

Tippy copied his breathing and they both grinned and chuckled.

A noise downstairs startled them both. 

John's bliss was stolen from him by one hard door slam. Tippy's sleepy blue eyes widened, his frail naked body seized with panic. A voice called out for Tippy.

Someone was home.

"Good Lord, it's Helen!"

One of the sisters Tippy so often talked about. John vaulted off the bed and into the nearest article of clothing. It turned out to be his shirt. He kicked the rumbled sheet aside and found trousers.

"Tippy, are you in bed at this hour? Are you ill--?!"

The door opened. 

John had the trousers up but not closed. Tippy was still on the bed, naked and spent, hiding beneath one pillow. 

Helen froze absolutely without even a peep. John hastened to make himself decent and then threw the sheet on top of Tippy, who finally covered himself. 

Helen let out a stunned, dry laugh. In John's experience a precursor to rage.

Tippy reacted to the laugh with an accusatory, "You didn't knock."

Helen's eyes were full of tears now. She visibly tried to speak but couldn't. John took his chance. 

"Madam, please, you're in shock. Take a seat and allow me to apologize--"

"Helen's a fallen woman, John. We can't shock her." Tippy said in his trademark withering boredom. In a time like this. 

John shot a glare at him, saw Tippy's panicked eyes, and fell in love. Tippy Schlegal held everything at an arm's length, passing cool judgement upon it entirely to protect himself. Everything but music, and John, that is. John suddenly saw it clearly. Tippy acted bored when it mattered most because if he let it matter at all, it would kill him. 

Helen finally breathed and found her voice, "I will be downstairs for tea. I look forward to meeting your guest properly."

She ran down stairs. 

John sagged. "That could have been a nightmare."

"Helen hasn't a leg to stand on, and she knows it. Plus, I think she was relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Yes. She thought I was up here dying. She thinks I need friends. Now she knows I have the closest and greatest type of friend."

John crawled back over him. To be labeled friend hurt more than he expected. He narrowed his eyes. "There is a single word for that kind of person."

They spoke at the same time, "Lover."

That felt infinitely better; like music to the ears. John gulped and moved closer still. 

"I do love you." he whispered.

"Yes. And I love you."

John took a deep breath. "Shall we?"

Downstairs, Helen was fidgeting with the tea. Tippy strode into the parlour as dressed as ever; barefoot, in suspenders and an untucked shirt. Behind him came the towering, immaculately dressed gentleman.

She tried to erase the bare chest and flash of pubic hair she'd glimpsed upstairs. But it was better to imagine that than what she had seen of her brother. 

She was still in shock. 

Tippy cleared his throat. "Helen Shlegel, may I introduce the fifth earl of Greystoke, John Clayton III. My lover."

"Jesus!" Helen quipped despite herself. She hardly knew where to begin. Tippy had a lover and he knew an Earl. These things separately were too fanciful to be real, but together in one sentence, spoken with such definitive truth… It boggled the mind. 

The enormously attractive Earl bowed over her knuckles as if this were a ballroom.

"Ms. Shlegel, I have heard so many good accounts of you and your sister."

"Oh? Tippy hasn't so much as hinted about you. But I suppose that is how these things go… Is it not?"

The earl cleared his throat. "Discretion is paramount. Normally, we enjoy the privacy afforded in my home, but Tippy began to miss his books."

Helen laughed. "Tippy you've been leading a double life. For how long?"

"We've seen each other nearly every day dormice a month. I teach him music and he teaches me the laws and language of the jungle."

The name connected in her mind. She gasped. "You're that orphan who was raised by apes. You're Tarzan!"

"Helen."

"What did I say?"

"You weren't supposed to mention his dead family."

"Oh. Heavens. Sorry."

John flexed his abnormal knuckles. "It is true; My only surviving family are wild apes in the Congo. May I say? Tippy is fortunate to have sisters who care so much about his health that they barge in to check on him so often."

The sting was deserved. Helen tried not to rise to it. Tippy smirked happily. The sight of it annoyed her. She threw a tea towel at him. "Oh, you're awful, Tip! How long were you planning on keeping this sort of thing from us?"

Tippy considered his answer with a brief flutter of lashes and an eyeroll. "Forever I suppose. It isn't like I can fall in the family way and have my secrets exposed as you did."

Helen's gasp was faint, for she was growing a callous against such remarks. It shouldn't have bothered her at all, but in the presence of an Earl, and a famous one at that, she was sensitive to the reputation of the Shlegel name. 

"Lord Greystoke, I hope you don't think we are all deviants. Our older sister is the picture of perfection."

"Don't act like that for his sake, Helen. When he's with me he isn't Lord Greystoke."

The gentleman's lips crooked in a smile. "That is true. When I am with Tippy, it is liberating to drop all pretenses, even one's title."

"So does that mean you prefer to be Tarzan again?"

Tippy snorted. The gentleman grinned, 

"John is fine."

"Then I shall be Helen. What if we met in town? Are we to adopt every pretense?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You would be but the sister of my music teacher."

Helen frowned.

  
  


Tippy ached to see John leaving, but since Helen wasn't taking any hints to go, John's slotted appointment time ended with her still asking John her quarter of a million questions. Tippy didn't know if he should be embarrassed of Helen or not. On one hand, she was being extremely tolerant and level headed in regards to the cold hard facts of life. But on the other hand, she had taken the liberty of No Pretenses a bit far, asking the sort of prying questions Tippy had not even asked yet. About Jane.

Tippy left them alone for all of five minutes for a quick trip to the loo--there was a slick mess oozing from him that needed to be dealt with. 

When he returned, John looked queasy and Helen looked smug. Before Tippy could ask about it, he saw that John was in his coat. "Are you leaving?"

"I have other appointments to keep."

"I suppose time did get away from us upstairs. Until next time, my dear."

John grunted, tilted his face, kissed the corner of his mouth rather distractedly, and left.

As soon as the door shut behind John, Tippy scoffed at Helen. 

"Thanks for that."

"Me?"

"We were very clearly in the middle of something when you arrived. Couldn't you have buggered off?"

"Tippy, we need to talk."

"Why?"

"Sit down, please."

Tippy settled on the warm settee where John had been. His residual heat was comforting. Tippy curled up like a cat. 

Helen paced and pushed her hair off her forehead. "Tippy. You need to be careful."

"Helen, he and I have discussed our position at great length. We understand the risks but it won't stop us being together."

"I'm not talking about that risk--though it is dire--I mean with your heart, little Tip. He's just using you."

Tippy felt his warmth and goodwill to all wither and die. "Pardon me?"

"Darling--it's how cads operate. He romances you in the shadows, doesn't permit you to call him by name or meet him in public as a friend--"

"What did you say to him?" Tippy demanded, recalling John's queasiness before he left. His heart went cold. 

"Nothing cruel. Only true."

"How dare you interfere in my life--you have no right--you don't know what you're talking about. Get out. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Helen's objections were stopped as if his shout had been a cork shoved down her throat. Angry now, she squared her jaw and stormed out.

Tippy sat back on the sofa. John's warmth was gone entirely. Now that he thought about it, John hadn't set a time or place for their next encounter. He was usually so eager to set it in stone--why not this time?

It was all Helen, Tip was certain. She had said something terrible and now John didn't want to come back. Or felt that he couldn't, now that they had been found out.

Was it over then? Were they meant to move on, and pretend none of it happened?

Tippy hugged his knees and had a cry. 

*

Two weeks later, John lost his temper and threw a tray at a servant before destroying the rest of the music room. He didn't stop until the horns were dented, the stringed instruments smashed, and the piano--half way through trying to tip it over, his anger crumpled and, with it, his will to wreak havoc. 

He only wanted Tippy. 

But Tippy wouldn't come to him. 

It had been an entire fortnight. No word, no note or letter explaining anything. John had been tempted to send his own missives but Helen's warning rang loud whenever he picked up a pen. 

_ Do you love him? _

_ Deeply.  _

_ If the law permitted, would you marry him? _

There, John had made his mistake. He hadn't answered quickly enough. Though he said yes--and rather believably-- Helen had seen the truth and from there her own distrust in men took affect, rendering him a villain.

And now she would have told Tippy what she thought she knew, and Tippy believed her. Why else would he stay away?

John was no villain. Only proud. Too proud to face his own shortcomings. But that ended now. 

He called his valet and dressed for an outing.

At Ducy Street, he knocked on the door with a tripping heart.

The anxiety felt debilitating. He would rather be fighting gorillas for his life, than dealing with these emotional and social cuts. For what happened next split him to the bone. 

The door was opened by Tippy himself, who scowled and slammed the portal shut. John had expected something like this, and still it hurt. He turned to go but then the door whisked open again. John's heart lifted. 

Tippy beckoned him in.

*

Tippy had wanted nothing but to see John again--right up until the bastard was on the doorstep. After two weeks of cold silence the sight of him triggered anger instead of joy. But slamming the door had been harsh. The moment he did it, he knew that he was angry at John but still wanted him there.

So he let him in. And now they were standing in tense silence in the entry hall. Tippy finally cut right to the matter.

"You don't love me."

John's lips smacked. "Of course I do. I'm sorry for staying away so long--i thought it was the right thing to do, but I need you."

Tippy's resolve cracked. He crossed his arms. "Well, I need you, too. But I'm angry. You ran away, John. You left me sore and still wet from--"

"God. I'm sorry. Tippy. Can you ever forgive me? That was not how I intended the evening to end. It shouldn't have happened like that, here. I knew I should have taken you to the country manor and spoiled you--"

Tippy silenced him with a kiss that deepened with a happy growl as he climbed off the ground, into John's big strong arms. He pulled away enough to whisper, 

"You're forgiven then."

"Not until I've made it up to you. Come with me to the country. I want to give you bubble baths and sleep with you naked in my arms."

Tippy giggled, but John's grey eyes were serious. Tip gulped, and nodded.

John bumped their foreheads together softly with a grunt. Tippy thought of it as a gorilla kiss. Then he imagined being carried back up the stairs to the bed, and something in his chest seized up. He wasn't ready to feel any of that right now.

It was too raw. Too soon after the sting of abandonment.

He worried how to tell John for all of twenty seconds before John put him down with a knowing smirk. 

They went into the parlour and shut the door. John stoked the fire and then put Tippy on his knee. 

"How did I say it?" Tippy asked.

"Say what?"

"That I didn't want to have sex?"

"Your body told me."

"But how?"

"Your breathing. The expression in your eyes. Your bottom lip… it does this little tremble when you're out of your depth."

Tippy snuggled against his broad chest and found his heartbeat. There were other body noises, too. John needed to eat something. Tippy rang the bell and was standing at his bookshelf talking about loaning books when Anne brought the tea tray in. As soon as she was gone, Tippy returned to John's lap.

"What did Helen say that made you go?"

John swallowed loudly. "She asked me if I loved you, and then told me to hit the bricks if I wouldn't theoretically marry you."

"But I don't want to marry you. Even theoretically." Tippy said.

John fell back against the cushions. Tippy kept his voice delicately aloof as he shared an observation,

"You were married before and you can't even say her name now."

John exhaled as if stabbed. Tippy pressed onward with his point. "I want to be with you forever, but I don't want vows and things to tear you in half again should I die."

John huffed. "You're ten years my junior, Tip, and you won't be killed in childbirth. I shall surely die before you."

"I get sick a lot." Tippy rasped. "My body is frail. That's why I nourish my mind. You should prepare yourself."

Tippy began to move off, putting his money where his mouth was, so to speak. He wouldn't let John love him if it would hurt him too much later.

But John pulled him into a tight hug. His lips pressed against the side of Tippy's head. Then he held his face, looked deep into his eyes.

"It is true, losing her and the baby was like having my heart ripped out of my chest, and I had sworn I would never marry again. Then the way Helen spoke… I was so afraid that meant she had warned her away from me, and I had lost you."

"You should have asked me. Helen doesn't know anything about men. She thinks she does, just because she let some poor beggar ruin her. I have my own money, my own house. I don't need a husband. Even an Earl one. I just want someone to talk to."

John let his hand creep over Tippy's lap. "Talk? Or  _ talk _ ?"

Tippy combed his fingers into John's hair and sort of softly purred when he was cupped intimately. "Les deux, mon amour. Maintenant apprends-moi le swahili."

(Both, my love. Now teach me Swahili.)

_ Fin _ .


End file.
